I want a house. (The case for a non-linear life.)

The past six days I've been waking in an Adobe country home in Santa Fe, along with four pups, two cats, and two horses (the horses sleep outside, though). Why? How? House-sitting! A friend recently recommended it as a way to take an occasional break from van life.

Thing is, now I don't want to leave. It feels so right to be back in an airy house in the hills, surrounded by nature and animals.

My gut says: "YES! It's time. Create that life." And then my head butts in: "No, you're still too young. It would be a waste! Keep moving. You have your whole life to be still, to plant roots."

So all this got me thinking, what if life is not this linear progression of events as we might expect?

Last night I slid into a pair of wool leggings, thick sweater and socks. I boiled water for tea and baked cinnamon rolls (from a tube — #realitycheck). The pups followed me from the den, playing rough as I tripped over them in my path. It was complete chaos. And it was lovely. My heart felt so full. The encroaching fall season made parts of the house cold out but the oven infused the kitchen with warmth and the scent of browning sweet dough. I danced around with the pups, having one of those moments where all you can think is This is exactly what I want.

So this morning I woke up and changed all the locks. Little do the home owners know, THIS IS MY PLACE NOW. Muahaha.

But seriously, this kitchen epiphany made me realize a larger truth (and I'm going to share it because I can't help myself)...

There's this idea of a linear life — be born; go to school; travel "while you can"; date around; get a job; get married; have kids; work more; save money; get promoted; retire; die. Or something like that.

For some, this structure may be just what they truly want. And that's great! But maybe... you'll go back to school in your 60s and reinvent your career. Or you'll sell a huge business and retire at 30. Or you'll get married at 18. Adopt a kid at 50. Become single again when you're 45. Travel full-time with your family at 30.

I have this self-imposed pressure to be constantly traveling because I'm young. I've heard so many people say, "Do it while you can!"

I'm calling BS.

Travel isn't just for the young! Putting down roots isn't only for the established! Nothing ever has to be IT — your one chance, your one moment to do X. Nothing is permanent. You can always change your mind and change your life.

Not to mention, it is never black or white. One decision or facet of your life does not define you. We are each spectrums of adventure and creativity and rooting and love and service and joy. And way more.

Let's shake off the pressure and expectations. I'm 26 and I have this crazy dream to buy a house. (I feel so vulnerable and weird saying that.)

Maybe I'll have it for five years and sell it to move somewhere else or live on the road full-time again. Or live in it part-time and travel the other. Or even realize it's not all I thought it would be. So. What. This is living.

Make decisions. Take risks. Try something new.

Go up and down and around and backward and sideways. Start again. Let people think you're nuts. YES. Create that precious, beautiful (perhaps non-linear) life you love!

How to live spectacularly.

Last week a dear friend and I had an emotional conversation. She told me she felt like I'd been judgmental of her lifestyle — one which, on the outside, society might consider "normal". (Even though I don't believe in normal, and I think she is spectacular.)

Hearing this absolutely broke my heart. I never want to make anyone feel like I think my lifestyle is more or better than theirs. Each of us has different wants, needs, and dreams. That's what makes this world so dang awesome!

I am vocal about this chapter of life because I feel SO amazed that almost every day I can actually do what I want. But my goal has never been convince you to live on the road. I share because I simply must get all these emotions and experiences out of me.

After the initial pain, this conversation with my friend ended up being super inspiring because I actually really admire her and think what she's doing — finding the love of her life; caring for animals; moving to her dream city — is so rad.

So I want to just say that your life doesn't have to look like mine (or anyone else's) for it to be wild, adventurous, creative, spectacular.

You can be the most adventurous person you know and never leave the country. You can be super creative and never pick up a paint brush. Wildness, creativity.. these are states of mind and being.

What truly inspires me is a person who is actively seeking and creating a life they love. Whatever that means to them. That's it!

Ultimately what leaves the greatest impression on anyone is a person who is ALIVE. [tweet]

I've met folks on the road who are unfulfilled, lifeless, bitter, dull. I've also met people who own a home on an acre of land and have a kid and chickens and it's SO obvious that they are ALIVE and full of JOY. The latter is the person I want to be around.

The greatest experiences during this trip haven't been arriving at new places or summiting peaks, but spending time with old and new friends, in their homes. Watching them share a pot of coffee with their love. Feeling their warmth and welcomeness as they proudly give me a tour of their neighborhood and local ice cream joints. Being invited to spaghetti dinners and treated like I'm a part of the family. Seeing their creative spaces, so full of vigor and life.

Being told, "You are welcome here any time. Any time." 

Love. That's pure love.

And that is what's spectacular. 

Without these people, this trip wouldn't be half of what it is.

They are alive. They are in love with the lives they've crafted, and they want to share that love.

And that's all that matters. What makes you come alive? That's the whole thing! That's how to live spectacularly — be ALIVE and let your aliveness leave no one who comes across it the same.

On being a solo woman traveling (part 1)

This is an article I recently wrote for The Yellow Conference blog. You can view the original piece here. There is a Part 2, which will be released the week of September 5.

As a single woman, I feel that media often paints a picture of reality for me that’s doused in vulnerability and fear. The world is not safe for you, woman. You are a vulnerable creature in need of constant protection.

Movies, TV, the news — they all seem to echo: Stay safe; stay inside! Stay close to your man.

I am not naive. I know bad things happen to good women every day, and I am not immune to any of the inherent dangers that come with not being a man.

But ultimately, I choose to believe that most people are good, and nothing constitutes the true danger of an unlived life. That’s why four months ago I chose to face one of my greatest fears — to live in a van and travel across North America. By myself.

I did not always believe or act this way. Just a few months ago I was scared to walk out to my car alone at night. Now I’m living in one.

A year ago a friend built out her Honda Element to travel around the country alone for one year. At the time I, too, was embarking on an adventure — I was moving to New Zealand with my boyfriend (at the time) — but the idea of being a solo woman on the road rooted in me, to be uncovered nearly a year later.

I could never do that by myself, I thought. I pictured being alone in a van dark at night, heart racing at every shuffle that sounded through the thin van walls. Maybe I could do it one day — with my boyfriend.

I hated that I felt that way. I wanted to be independent, free, confident and brave. But I was just so… scared. When the opportunity to live on the road appeared, I was intrigued but fearful. Nightmares and severe anxiety plagued me daily. Still, the idea persisted.

While I mulled it over for months, a personality — a mentor, of sorts — began forming. A woman. She was bold and brave and so sure of herself. She rose above all of the smallness of fear-mongering and shame. She adventured on her own regularly. She stood tall in who she was. She wouldn’t become small for anyone. She was wild.

She is the #atwildwoman.

The first time I created her by putting pen to paper, I felt a huge mental shift. I began researching how to turn a minivan into a home on wheels. I set a budget and saved. I spent 30 days drawing the #atwildwoman in different shapes and sizes and discovered she isn’t one person, but a spirit of gumption and wildness that lives in all of us. Her existence may not be apparent, but she’s there, perhaps under layers of stories, half-truths, and fear.

As I learned more about the #atwildwoman, I found myself doing things I never thought I could. I went on climbing trips without my boyfriend. I hiked alone. I bought a van. I learned how to use a saw. I cut and drilled and glued wood. I installed a ceiling and created a floor plan and built furniture. I slept in Walmart parking lots and talked with strangers and, despite a bit of social anxiety, met with people I’d followed online and looked up to for years.

But even more than all of this doing and action, I’ve learned from the #atwildwoman that courage sometimes looks very quiet, like softening.

I’m realizing that braveness has another
side, perhaps one more innately feminine.

It looks like allowing tears and fears and doubt to co-exist with my gumption, my pride, my power.

Courage sometimes comes in the form of accepting rejection and being one with a broken heart. Letting yourself cry so hard and have a nervous breakdown on a dark country road. Feeling total unrelenting fear. Letting all that bubble to the surface and choosing to to continue, to keep accepting and loving yourself despite what society may dub as a failure or shortcoming.

I’m sure there are many — endless, really — layers and sides to courage I have yet to discover, but so far, I keep hearing these two pieces of advice from the #atwildwoman.

She tells me:

“Press on.” and then “Let it be.”

And with these two messages ringing strong and true, I do just that. Not fearlessly, but with conviction and hope that there really is nothing left to fear.

I couldn't escape this time.

The last five years I've been roaming around the world looking (unknowingly) for happiness. I moved from New Jersey to San Francisco. I quit my day job. I lived in New Zealand for a year. I built out a van and started traveling all over North America.

During these pursuits I never recognized how externally-dependent my happiness was. I didn't view any of my dreams as particularly superficial (like simply wanting to be rich or famous) so I didn't think twice about their origins.

Yet during or after each goal was fulfilled, I found myself in the same place — unsatisfied, unstable, and looking for the next.

Deep down I knew I'd never find true fulfillment through any outside endeavor, but I refused to face this idea until recently, when I literally couldn't run away any more. Van life.

Everywhere I drove, the insufficiency of my external happiness followed. I cried. I drowned my sorrows in ice cream and Instagram. I had good times, too. And after much avoidance, I reluctantly lifted my gaze and locked eyes with my suffering.

I should be happy, I said to it. I don't have a boss; I can travel anywhere I want; I get to be creative and adventurous every day. It's my dream. Why are you here?

A sneaking suspicion arose: What makes some days hard and some days easy? Could it be me? Pshhhh. But I can't just CHOOSE to be happy. I can't. It's too hard. IT'S IMPOSSIBLE.

Soon after this internal dialogue I listened to an interview with Tony Robbins while driving from Portland to the redwoods in Northern California. And it all came to a head.

I can't do the episode justice in a few lines, but my biggest takeaway was Tony talking about two states of being — beautiful states and suffering states — and it's up to us to choose which one we live in right now.

Simple. We've all probably heard something like this a thousand times.

And it's true.

"We live in a world where most of us are looking for what's wrong. What's wrong is always available. So is what's right.  ...find what is beautiful in each moment, and I'm telling you, there is nothing on earth I've experienced that's brought more joy."

This interview blatantly confirmed all I'd been avoiding, that nothing — no gorgeous mountain backdrop, no passionate relationship, no accolade or award — will truly fulfill me.

That can be a hard truth to accept because there's no road map that'll show us the way. It's uncharted territory. Murky waters. An internal exploration and you're diving solo.

Fulfillment is an art and a state of being. You don't stop having dreams or desiring relationships or travel. It simply means that happiness starts here and now, regardless.

Of course, I'm still figuring all this out, and there's always sooooo much more to learn, but for now it seems pretty straightforward:

You choose to be happy. That's it. So simple it's almost maddening, isn't it?

Nothing will ever be just right. Nothing on the outside will ever fulfill. So I'm choosing happiness. Because if not now, when?

Take ownership of your adventure.

I had the great privilege of growing up traveling — my mom homeschooled me and worked on cruise ships for many months of the year. When docked we spent time on a farm where I climbed trees, ran around fields, and fell deeply in love with nature.

Although I spent a lot of time in the outdoors, I never did many of your typical 'adventure' activities like hiking, camping, or climbing.

Being super awkward underwater circa 2000

During college I watched the documentary 180° South, and it changed my life. I became fascinated by the idea of sailing and surfing seas, climbing peaks, and living an unconventional, adventurous life. 

But watching such magnificent, aspirational scenes from a dimly-lit dorm in a flat, land-locked New Jersey town made that kind of life feel entirely out of reach.

Eventually I got a taste of the adventure lifestyle through the men in my life — my dad and a couple boyfriends. I did some hiking in Pennsylvania with a college boyfriend. I camped in Colorado with my dad. I moved to the west coast and was introduced to climbing by another man, who also took me backpacking for the first time and encouraged me to go on lots of trips with him.

Looking back I realize I never planned or lead any of our adventures, so they didn't feel like 'mine'.

Learning how to climb circa 2014

I'm grateful for the introduction to these activities, and although I could've done it by myself, it was a relief to have a gatekeeper of sorts to lead me.

But my real affection for the outdoors piqued when I began to go alone or with friends — without a boyfriend — where I couldn't default to following him. I had to plan, pack, and act entirely for myself.

I felt something new.. something deeper.. ownership of my experiences.

Wanting a friend or leader to introduce you to the outdoors is nothing to be ashamed of, in fact, it's smart and safe. But whether it's a man or a woman, at some point I believe there must be a departure for the experiences to feel truly like your own.

Hiking The Chief in Squamish circa this week

Whether that means going on your first solo backpacking trip, heading out to local trails for an afternoon alone, or simply taking the reins and planning your next adventure together, it's an entirely new experience when you're the one leading the way.

To me, it's a rite of passage that has shifted the outdoors from being about scenic views or physical challenges to being an experience of knowing, of introspection. Not just looking, but seeing.

Now I love and crave going into the wild alone. It's a place to reset and be reminded of just how tiny yet powerful I am at the same time.

Is it time for you to take ownership of your adventures? If you're feeling the stir, I'd encourage you to answer without expectation. Start small. And bit by bit, you'll gain even more confidence, empowerment, and a deeper connection to the wild that'll last a lifetime. (I think — I'm not quite there yet so I can't say for certain.)

Just go, go now, and be wild in your own way. [tweet]

This is not our job.

It took me a long time to understand that it's not my job to make people get me.

If someone doesn't like you, get you, appreciate you, respect you.. it's on them. This is not your responsibility. There will always be someone who will not get you. They won't get why you want to live in another country. Or be single. Or cut your own hair. Or jump off the corporate ladder and freelance instead.

People may call you "weird", "off", "a hippie", "unrealistic", "living on her own planet".

Illustration inspiration courtesy of Kate of Birch and Pine

I may not want to be married, or have kids, or buy a house.. but I totally can understand and respect folks who want those things. Neither of our situations is better, cooler, or more exciting. Each is right for us, and each is truly spectacular.

It is not your job to make me get you.
It is not my job to make you get me. [tweet]

Someone even once asked if I had a personality disorder. (I think she was kidding, but still, she said it).

"That's [living in a van] something that people with personality disorders do. Do you have a personality disorder?"

Meh. Maybe she doesn't get it. Not my job.

Be you. Quirks, curiosities, outlandish ideas, crazy hair, paint under your fingernails 'n' all. And when someone butts their head against your dreams, just remind yourself: Not my job.

On going slow & continual forgiveness.

It's hard work to slow down these days, especially as an entrepreneur living on the road. Slowing down goes against everything we're taught and brought up with in our modern society of hyper-connectedness and hustle..

Fast food.
Quick cash.
Instagram hacks.
Express trains.
5-minute abs.

Where are we going? What will really happen when we get there? Once we do, will we really be there, or will there immediately be a new place to be/thing to do/person to see?

When I started living in my van, I had a schedule and a set number of things I wanted to accomplish every day. I wanted to make coffee and write and meditate and paint and take photographs and draw and exercise and read and drive AND have a super productive client work day.

Every day. 

That's insanity.

I have a long way to go to figuring out a healthy new rhythm, but here's how slowing down looks so far:

5 mph under the speed limit.
Windows down.
Taking 15 extra minutes to enjoy that view.
Not making promises to be there by X date/time.
Avoiding massive highways as much as possible.
Staying an extra night.
Putting the phone AWAY.
Forgiveness.
Forgiveness.
Continual forgiveness.

Why the rush? What's more than here?

Foot off the gas. Windows down. Enjoy the [slow] ride. [tweet this]

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I choose miracles.

And The #atwildwoman Adventure is off to a FLYING start!

...straight to the mechanic, that is.

I've only been a van owner for two weeks and already have LOTS of advice for anyone considering life on the road. A few basic tips:

1. Save more money than you could even imagine you might POSSIBLY need.
2. If you buy an old van, be ready to put $1-2K into repairs upfront for it to be safe + reliable.
3. Get a mechanic to look at the van BEFORE you buy it. (Doh.)
4. Do your research. Check for vehicles with solid reviews on sites Kelly Blue Book + Edmunds.

But I do have a pretty neat story that has come out of this massive road block sitting right smack dab in the middle of the #atwildwoman starting line.

I'm going to be honest. Business has been slooow the past couple months. I'm sure a lot of that is because I've been moving, visiting family, and flying up the country for a family emergency, so I haven't been able to focus all my time on work.

Still, with all the bills adding up, not a lot of money coming in, and plowing through savings.. one hits a breaking point.

The breaking point was hit today.

The auto shop called about the van. Again. And told me I needed a new distributor, which would cost an additional $500 on top of the $1700 from all the engine stuff last week.

She could sense the rising tears in my voice and reassured me, "It's really a good van. This is just the way it goes with old cars. You buy someone else's problems. Other than these things, it's in really good condition."

I appreciated her positivity, but as soon as we hung up I BURST into flames, feeling like my chest was literally opening up. I stared at the ceiling, and that's when the fire in my lungs poured out as profanities that I spouted across the room, my face flushed and dripping with hot tears.

"F****** REALLY, UNIVERSE???? REALLY? This is what happens? WHY? I've been showing up EVERY SINGLE DAY fully to live this life, to do this work. I'm risking it all. I show up. I put myself out there. AND WHERE ARE YOU? It's your turn. It's your f****** turn, Universe. SHOW THE F*** UP."

I am aware this was not my finest moment.

Oh, and, apologies, Universe.

But the energy was so real and raw, and it pulsed through my body in this new way, not of fear, or misery, or even anger, but more of a BRING IT ON, LET'S FREAKING DO THIS, UNIVERSE. IT'S GO TIME.

That happened at 11:36 a.m. EST today. As I'm about to sleep at 12:51 a.m. the next day, I've had four potential clients approach me, three people who want custom #atwildwoman portraits done, and two additional print orders for tomorrow. 

One might call it coincidence, or luck, or whatever. I call it a miracle, because I have to. It's like Albert Einstein (supposedly) once said:

There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.

I choose miracles.